


Separation is no Vacation

by thegizka



Series: Batfam Week 2018 [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Compliant, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Gen, I love Alfred, MVP of the Batfam, though it's comics canon so it's flexible
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-18 13:29:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15486843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegizka/pseuds/thegizka
Summary: Alfred takes the evening off to have dinner with his estranged daughter but finds his thoughts drawn elsewhere.





	Separation is no Vacation

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Batfam Week 2018 Day 1: Vacation or Separation

Alfred Pennyworth checked his phone again, but the screen was still blank. He was rather surprised. On a normal day, he’d have received a salutation from Richard, technical suggestions from Timothy, snack requests from Stephanie, confused queries from Duke, frantic questions from Bruce, and, if he were lucky, a cryptic message from Jason in any combination of texts, calls, and e-mails. Damian and Cassandra were the only ones who seemed capable of surviving a day independently, though they frequently spent time with him in the kitchen or sitting room with companionable respect. They were the only ones he trusted to try and assist him with the housework without creating more work for him later. He had left them a list of instructions and emergency protocols to use in his absence. Just in case.

He hadn’t been too eager to leave them. Alfred was well aware that Bruce and his strange family, while each brilliant in their own way, would fall apart over the most basic rules of survival without him. Well-balanced meals, personal hygiene, and sufficient sleep were all supervised and regularized by him--when he could get them to cooperate. Who would swap Timothy’s coffee to decaf after 9:00pm? Who would drag Bruce away from the computers so he could snatch a nap before his duties at Wayne Enterprises? Who would make sure Richard ate something other than cereal? Who would check up on Jason to make sure he wasn’t in too much trouble?

No, he hadn’t really wanted to leave them. But Bruce had insisted when the opportunity to meet Julia for dinner had presented itself. And, truth be told, Alfred wanted to try and make amends for the years he had been absent from his daughter’s life, even if their relationship wasn’t totally reparable. He was too old to refuse to accept the choices he had made, even the wrong ones. Of course, to accept his decisions was to accept their consequences, and he couldn’t ignore Julia’s resentment, if only to help her find closure. Besides, he would lie if he said he wasn’t curious to learn a little more about her.

The dinner had been civil, even pleasant. He had been surprised when she contacted him at the beginning of the week, saying she was near Gotham finishing a case and would not be opposed to meeting. She had greeted him with a small smile, asking politely after Bruce and the children. They had tiptoed through the conversation, catching glimpses of each other’s lives like two people getting acquainted. Even though they shared blood, they were virtual strangers. He felt the constraints of decorum and politesse, not the ease of true familiarity, and he found himself surprisingly drained on this trip home. He wondered if Julia felt the same.

Who would have thought he would prefer the chaos of Wayne Manor to a fancy dinner and a night off? He had spent too many years fathering Bruce and, subsequently, his children to be comfortable without them. He could be resentful for the years he’d aged through worry and stress following this strange family of vigilantes, doing what he could to keep them from dying before him. But he had long ago made peace with their way of life. Besides, if he didn’t take care of them, who would? He had watched Bruce grow up over the years, but the man still had a lot to learn about being the head of a family, especially one that expand as rapidly as this one.

Alfred glanced at his phone again. Still no messages. Richard had probably stressed that nobody contact him on his night off. He knew it was intended as a kindness, but somehow getting some sort of update, however panicked or cryptic, would have been more comforting. For all he knew, he would return to the manor burning or one of his charges bleeding out on the surgical table! “The hazards of the job”, he reminded himself ruefully, pushing aside such disastrous scenarios with the willpower of years of experience. He had learned to put his faith in their skills and Bruce’s rigid training long ago. It was one of the only ways he could cope with their vigilante lifestyle. Of course, it was easier to manage when he was on the comms with them, monitoring progress on the computer in the Batcave. It gave him some semblance of control, an opportunity to watch their backs in case something went wrong. It had been years since he was totally disconnected from their evening patrol. It was...disconcerting.

The taxi driver took the exit towards Gotham. There would be at least forty-five minutes of travel before they reached the manor. There was still a flurry of traffic across Gotham’s bridges, normal for so late at night. Gotham was a city that never truly slept, as Alfred well knew. The end of legal business during the day simply heralded the criminal activities of the night. He wondered how many of the cars they passed were entering the city with criminal intent, or would get caught in some scuffle between the powers of justice and the lawless. His eyes roved across the smoggy skyline. No sign of the inspector’s signal. Perhaps it was one of those blessedly slow nights for crime fighting.

Alfred checked his phone three more times before the taxi turned onto the long curving road that would bring them to the manor. The rest of his time was spent scouring the rooftops for any sign of his family. He wondered if tourists did the same on the rare occasion they visited Gotham, hunting for a sighting of the Batman and his associates. Usually the city only saw an influx of unfamiliar visitors when Bruce was holding one of his galas or fundraisers. Day-trippers were more common, making their way over the bridges to take in the sights of the city in the relative safety of the daytime to avoid the questionable nighttime activities. It was a bit of a shame, really. Gotham used to have such a vibrant nightlife--dancing, concerts, opera, theatre--before the criminal gangs moved in and exerted their power. There had been some improvement since Bruce began his crusade, but the progress was slow and at times the situation seemed worse. Gotham’s dangerous reputation would take a long time to dispel. Alfred believed in Bruce, though, and had hope that someday the city would return to the safety and glory he remembered from his younger years.

The manor was quiet, at least from the outside. Someone had remembered to keep the front light on for him (Damian? Or Duke?). He paid the cab driver, wished him a safe night, and ducked inside. The manor seemed equally quiet on the inside, and Alfred took a moment to drink it in. Somehow it felt better to have the door closed behind him, not in a safety sense necessarily, but a comfort sense. Looking around him--at the worn floorboards, the imported carpets, the familiar staircase, the decorative tables with the antiques and heirlooms on display--and the subtle signs of the family--shoes and jackets piled by the entryway, a blanket draped over the spiraling handrail, a pile of mail and community flyers on one of the tables--he felt a distinct sense of familiarity. Yes, he was back to the eternal chaos.

Though the manor was remarkably unchaotic at the moment, but that was usual for patrol time. He hadn’t expected anyone to greet him at the door, so he didn’t feel disappointed when no one was there. With a small sigh and a smile, Alfred set about straightening the shoes and hanging up the jackets. A purple raincoat, still slightly damp from that evening’s shower, told him Stephanie had found her way into the manor again. Another pair of Richard’s shoes had appeared since he left, too. It seemed to be a nearly full roster in the cave tonight.

As he was folding the discarded blanket and sliding it back into one of the linen closets, he caught a snatch of throbbing bass and tinny pop chords. So someone was up, and they were playing music too loudly for this late at night. He followed the sound towards the kitchen, where light and chaotic giggling spilled into the hallway. Stephanie and Cassandra were dancing wildly to one of the current hits, a pile of dishes in the sink and flour powdering the counters. Something sweet was baking in the oven. So it must be a slow night for crime fighting if they were both baking instead of patrolling. He hadn’t recognized the nagging worry at the back of his mind until he felt the relief of this new information.

“Alfred!” Stephanie shrieked happily when she caught sight of him in the doorway. She and Cassandra were out of breath from their dance party, but their joy at seeing him was genuine. Stephanie turned down the volume of music blaring from her phone, then slid onto the counter while Cassandra gave Alfred a welcome hug. “How was your dinner?”

“Pleasant,” he answered honestly. But he had little interest in discussing his encounter with Julia so soon after their meeting. “What are you two up to? Not on patrol tonight?”

“A case of the lady pains,” Stephanie replied with a grimace. “Bruce was kind enough to let me off for the night.” Thinking of Bruce’s awkwardness with anything exclusively feminine or parental, Alfred wasn’t particularly surprised. “Cass was nice enough to keep me company. Barbara was over since Dick is in town, so she went out to fill the feminine quota for the night,” she explained with a sly wink.

“I see,” Alfred said, amused. Stephanie’s perspective was always interesting. Even after years of working her way into Bruce’s circle, she still found herself an outsider to the family, so her observations were more honest and brash than, say, Timothy’s. Sometimes they even reminded him of Jason’s. “You spent the evening baking instead. It smells delicious.”

“Thanks! If the cookie dough was any indication, they should be pretty tasty.” As though emphasizing her point, Stephanie ran her finger around the inside of one of the bowls in the sink, sticking the glob of dough she had collected into her mouth appreciatively.  
“Ah, which recipe did you use?”

“Yours,” Cassandra replied. She smiled shyly. “Chocolate chip.”

At first Alfred was surprised. That recipe was one he had taken from his mother’s kitchen, committed to memory, and shared with the Waynes when he became their butler. As far as he knew, it wasn’t written down anywhere. But looking at Cassandra’s dark eyes and soft smile, he realized she had memorized it by watching him in the kitchen countless times. Those quiet afternoons of baking in companionable silence, Alfred chatting and she asking the odd question... She had been learning more than he thought. The members of this family never ceased to surprise him.

“Then I know they will be delicious.” Cassandra’s smile broadened, glad of his approval. It was enough to make him forgive them for the mess in his kitchen (which, admittedly, would have been much worse if Richard had been involved in this endeavor). “If you ladies are up here, who is manning the control center?”

“Duke,” Stephanie answered, another fingerful of remnant cookie dough in her mouth. “Tim wanted to stay behind, but Bruce insisted he work off some of that caffeine.” Alfred cocked an eyebrow at Cassandra, who shrugged.

“Decaf at 9:00pm,” she recited from the list Alfred had left her. Even with the switch, Timothy seemed to have overdone it with the caffeine today.

“Probably for the best,” he agreed.

Just then the timer dinged, and Stephanie launched herself off the counter excitedly. He and Cassandra pulled out the cooling racks while the blonde carefully removed two large pans of golden brown chocolate chip cookies from the oven. Their inviting scent billowed with the steam, and while Alfred had had a small dessert at the restaurant, he found his mouth watering slightly.

Stephanie squealed excitedly. “They’re perfect!”

“Well done, ladies,” he agreed, giving Cassandra’s shoulders a proud squeeze. He went over to the cupboards and pulled down glasses for milk and plates for once the cookies had cooled a bit. He grabbed an extra of each so he could bring some down to Duke. Stephanie turned up the music a little, singing along to one of her favorite songs on her playlist. Cassandra bobbed her head along with the beat.

Why was it that he felt so close to these young women and not his own daughter? A flicker of guilt stirred in his heart. Time, he told himself. He had gotten to know Cassandra and Stephanie over the past few years, whereas Julia was still largely unknown to him. Besides, his daughter was old enough to have figured out most of her life, and these girls still needed guidance and encouragement. They needed him where Julia didn’t, and he was starting to suspect he needed them and this family just as much. And maybe that wasn’t a bad thing.


End file.
